My dad, Daniel Rab, was best friends in high school with Jimmie Jones, who lived right across the street. Dad was the fifth of 9 Rab children and Jimmie was the oldest of 8 Jones kids. Needless to say, under those circumstances, they were always at each other’s house and there was always something to do.
Dad got to where he would go over to Jimmie’s house, but not so much to see his best friend, but rather Jimmie’s younger sister, Jo Ann, my Mom.
And so it was over time Mom became a Rab.
There’s a plot of ground that lays still, quiet. It’s a special, revered ground, but realistically, only to a few.
It’s a place to remember, a place to forget, a place to laugh, to cry, a place to go back and have conversations and wonder if anyone who sees thinks you’re insane. Continue reading At Least For Now
The Houston Astros won their first World Series game last night. First ever! That kicked up a memory. I grew up an hour south of Houston and attended countless Astros games back in the day.
I took my two oldest sons, Blake and Jared, to an Astros game in the old Astrodome when they were five and four, respectively. Halfway through the game, I decided to walk the entire circle of the Dome and show them the field from different vantage points. We meandered through the large crowds and stopped in various places to look at the field and stadium from where we were right then.
We came to a particularly busy spot and I experienced a parent’s worst nightmare. Somehow, I lost Blake. Continue reading Hot Dog Eyes
RabBits 